Beautiful Conclusion
by bee2091
Summary: "The art of losing isn't one to master..." A poem Artemis reads to those that attend to Wally West's funeral.


**_CENTRAL CITY  
__June 22, 1700 EST_**

* * *

_"T__he art of losing isn't hard to master"_

Everyone had expected her to approach the small podium. Recently she never spoke except when absolutely necessary in the best of situations, so it wasn't even considered by _anyone_ that she might, of her own accord, rise to speak on such a dark and dreary day as this. But upon consideration to those that were familiar with her particular strengths, namely her ability to hold her emotions in check, figured that she would be the best person to speak on such a grim occasion. A glance at the couple members of the Team and the League showed at best, a tenuous grasp of their emotions on the face of the oldest and pain, plain as day on the face of the youngest. They were slightly crying, but she was trying her best not to. Only the once blonde archer remained neutral, her eyes dry, her expression as outwardly unemotional as ever it was. There were no more tears to cast off, as of the past few days it was as if she shed them all.

Of course, she would be the one to speak. Besides his family and equally to Nightwing, she was the one who knew him best. The others had watched and probably thought she wouldn't be able to get through two sentences before breaking.

The entire congregation, silent as a matter of course, became as still as the grave behind her approach. Not even their breathing could be heard. She carried with her a scrap of paper which she held in her composed, pale hands.

"Each person that knew him has been touched by the life that has left us..." She began, her voice carrying over and across the wide expanse of field. "Each and every life here owes something to the man we lay to rest today." The silence of the crowd was broken by choked sobs, but no one moved to see where from. "Each of you, I'm certain, have said your words that have been appropriate to speak here today, words that tell of his heroism, his heart, his kindness and his courage..." She pauses and her eyes find the faces of her two teammates, Nightwing and Impulse, in the center front row. Wally's parents, uncle and aunt, the Garricks, Superman, and Green Arrow with Black Canary, along with Artemis' mother, Jade Nguyen, Roy Harper, and their daughter Lian to the side of them.

"...we..." She pauses again, and something flickered behind her stoicism...something alive and broken. She swallows visibly and straightens her shoulders, looking out at the small crowd again, "...who lived with him, who shared our days with him, who depended on him...he gave us something _more_...he gave us each other; family, and we... do not..." She exhales and that living thing that on someone else might be emotion was there again, fighting to emerge, but she straightens her shoulders and it was gone, pushed back behind walls of stone.

"...we have no words of our own...or, maybe it is more accurate to say we have too many words and cannot chose among them."

She looks down at the green grass, her eyes fixing on the words on the paper there, but she was not seeing them. She is fighting for control, mentally, promising her emotions they would have time to mourn later, promising them anything if they would only help her get through this.

"So we borrow the words of W. H. Auden," She spoke, nearly a whisper, nearly emotional. "To state for us, what we cannot find the words to state for ourselves." She takes a deep breath and glances from the paper to the crowd. She looks at her friends, her family, and in their eyes she finds the strength to continue. She nods almost imperceptibly and looks at the paper, trying to ignore the way her hand shook...just a little.

"Stop all the clocks," She speaks, her voice clear and stoic, "Cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos." She continues, not really needing the words on the paper in front of her; she clearly knew the poem when she helped Wally writing a paper about it a few summers ago when they once started college together. "and with muffled drum..." She stops and has to swallow to keep her voice from breaking. She couldn't say the next words, but she would. She inhales and feels the tightness in her chest give just enough, "Bring out the..." She stumbles a little, but continues without further pause, "...coffin," She looks out into the crowd, "Let the mourners come."

It wasn't fair, she knew it. It wasn't fair. She had always known life was unfair and that she was never likely to get a break, but this was beyond bearing. In her mind, she remembers a conversation they'd had, like so many others.

_A conversation about spending their lives together_

Her voice remains tight and no longer as unemotional as she prided herself on having, but she wouldn't stop anymore. She would finish them. She promised it to the others that she'd do this and she had picked the poem. She looks up and out at the brilliant sun outside and wished it was raining, she hated to think of the day being this bright and full of summer when her heart felt as if it were winter, "Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead," She continues when she looks back at the crowd, "Scribbling on the sky the message..." She stops again, lowering her head for a moment, fighting back the wave of emotions, both her own and from her friends, "He is Dead," She whispers. The field is so incredibly silent that each and every person present heard her regardless. She raises her head to face them again, "Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves," She continues, "Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves."

The next part was the hardest...the next verses the most meaningful and she was suddenly unsure she had the strength to speak them. She draws her strength from their presence and their encouragement, but she knew it would be pointless to try and remain emotionless.

"He was my North," She spoke through the lump in her throat, her voice tight and unlike her at all, "My South," she continues somehow, "My East and West," She admits, blinking rapidly to stop the tears, "My working week and my Sunday rest," She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, "My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song..." She feels the tears sting her eyes and when she blinks this time, they overflow, running down her cheeks, "I thought that love would last forever..." Her voice breaks and she has to stop again, closing her eyes.

"I was wrong."

When she opens her eyes again, they were filled with emotion and anger. Not the all consuming rage that was her father's legacy, but the kind of anger that could only ever come out of love, "The stars are not wanted now..." She says angrily, "Put out every one." She demands. "Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun," She told them. "Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods." She blinks and more tears made their way down her cheeks.

"For nothing now can ever come to any good." She whispers.

_I love you Wally, so much..._


End file.
